It
by Ainulin
Summary: Demyx remembers his past, and it's not a happy sight. Will be renamed and resummarized at a later date.


_**Dedicated to all those who feel alone sometimes.**_

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He woke up at twelve, decided that he didn't want to speak to anyone; he went out into the living room and watched a movie. Returning to his room about an hour and a half later and realizing that he had eaten too much again, he reluctantly turned to his sitar. He strummed a little, not really feeling up to playing a song, and picked at his strings randomly. When he looked up again, it was about four. He set down the sitar carefully on it's stand and rolled into bed.

He couldn't bring himself to do any of the things he planned on doing this weekend. It all seemed to hard to do, even though he knew that on a normal day, it'd be exciting. Too much effort. He sat in bed thinking, staring at the wall in front of him blankly. The sheets warmed him, comforting him slightly. He wished things could have been different.

* * *

_He was laying on the couch, watching his mother pace back and forth. "Come on, where IS SHE?" she practically screamed into the air._

_"Mom, you need to relax," he stated as he watched her pace near the stairs._

_"Demyx, I can't! He's taking a turn for the worse! I need your cousin here NOW so I can go to the hospital!"_

_He could tell she was worried, but couldn't understand the full implications of what was happening; he was too little, only eight years old._

_It was about eight in the morning. He was home from school that day because he had strep throat for the billionth time in his life. It was nothing new. His throat was sore, and he broke his fever the day before. His sister was at school right now; he wondered if she knew about what was going on. He wished he could just go to the hospital with his mom, but she had already told him that by going to the hospital, he might make his dad sicker. He didn't see how that was possible, and if it was, he could wear one of those nurse's masks and the funny suits, but she still denied him._

_About ten minutes later, his cousin arrived, and his mother sped out the door. His cousin offered to make him breakfast, but he declined. Even at his young age, he was worried for what would happen. He asked where the rest of the family was, and his cousin told him they were at the hospital too. He wished he could be there with them._

_An hour later, the doorbell rang. His cousin answered the door as he sat up, and the family piled into the house. One of his uncles and both aunts sat on the couch across from the one he was sitting at, one with his sister on their lap, and his cousins were scattered around on metal fold-up chairs and the floor. His grandmother was the last to come in due to her slowness on the stairs. She sat down in the blue living room chair. Her eyes were teary._

_His cousin left her seat at the foot of the couch he was on and joined his mother in the kitchen. His favorite uncle whom he did not see sit down, slowly walked over to him. He got on his knees in front of the couch. "I'm sorry, Demyx."_

_"No!" he moaned, and was quickly embraced tightly by his uncle._

_"No, no, no..." he sobbed as he felt his heart being ripped from his chest._

_He knew what had happened. He knew that 'turn for the worse' meant death. He knew his father had died this morning._

* * *

Demyx got up from the bed, not being able to handle the thoughts that were bombarding his mind while he lay still. He walked around his room for a second. He couldn't draw, that took too much effort. He couldn't write music, again, too much effort. He thought about listening to music, but he didn't think he could stand it if a happy song started playing in his mood. He thought about doing his homework, but he didn't think he would be able to concentrate enough to get anything done. He thought about turning on the television and watching a movie or playing a videogame, but he couldn't bring himself to set up the playstation. Eventually, he went to his bag, unzipped it, and pulled out the book he'd been reading lately. He sat back down on the bed, propped up his pillow so he could lean against it, opened the book, and began to read, praying what was bothering him would disappear in the words of the story.

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**_ I do plan on writing more to this, although I don't know what and I don't know when. I know it's short, you don't have to tell me that. Read and review if you'd like._**


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